


Long Bow of the Reach

by daydreamereylo (elaines806)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Last of the Mohicans (1992), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bretons (Elder Scrolls), F/M, Frontier Skyrim, Imperials (Elder Scrolls), Imperials are the English, Nords (Elder Scrolls), Silverblood Nords are the French, The Empire is the British Empire., frontier life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaines806/pseuds/daydreamereylo
Summary: On the Skyrim frontier, three men get swept up in a war they never wanted in order to protect the two daughters of a Knight Protector of the occupying Imperial Legion.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. The Frontier

**Author's Note:**

> This is a retelling of The 1992 movie, the Last of the Mohicans. It is a Reylo AU that takes place in Skyrim, a fantasy province of the Elder Scrolls video game franchise. If you don't know anything about Elder Scrolls or Skyrim or its history, don't sweat it because I am mainly stealing character names, factions, and geographical references from it. Which may be inaccurate or not as to their proper in game locations, etc. I am playing loosely with all fandoms here, and actual history.  
> Plot/scenes/dialogue will be quite similar to the movie with some alterations and dialogue changes cause I can't help myself.  
> If you find errors in sentancing, etc I don't have a beta so please comment and point them out to me so I can fix it.  
> Dialogue that is non-italicized is in the Nordic language, of which there are a few dialects (according to me I guess)  
> Italicized dialogue is in the respective Breton language of that clan, I'll try to be specific as to who understands what language within the story. Not everyone will understand each other. Some "English (nordic)" that sounds provincial will probably be spoken by characters to which that is their non-native tongue, or simply because they are provincials who use more colloquialisms.
> 
> The title of this work is meant as an allusion to Hawkeyes' character, The Long Rifle or La Longue Carabine as he was known on the frontier.

Chapter 1: The Frontier

In the vast northwestern forests of Falkreath, three men were running silently through the undergrowth. One was a Breton young man, the last of a long line of the Bretons of his clan, covered in only the skins of animals he had trapped or hunted himself and the ritual tattoos of his people, carrying a war axe at his waist and a bow and arrows in his hands. His sure footing across moss covered rocks and the rugged terrain showed his years of experience as a woodsman, his keen brown eyes scanning in the distance for their quarry, long black hair tied back from his face and trailing to his shoulders. 

His father was at his left flank, twenty yards from his son, running in a silent line straight north as they tried to flush out a large elk from where they had caught its trail many miles back. His long braided hair only contained a few streaks of grey shooting through the black locks, his intelligent eyes never leaving the horizon. He had a battleaxe strapped to his back, a war axe at his waist, and also carried a heavy bow and quiver. Nary a leaf stirred as he loped past, and he was indeed quiet as the snake tattoo insignia he bore across his chest.

The third man was on the right flank to his brother, pausing on top a large boulder for just a moment at the vantage point. His skin was much paler than the others, his tattoos standing out in greater contrast, and he was much taller, belying his Nordic heritage though he dressed in the same Breton dress, covered in animal pelts, a war axe at his belt. He carried a long bow in hand, and quiver on his back with heavy shafted arrows. He also had black hair, slightly shorter shoulder length and elaborately braided in places, with brown eyes that sparkled when he caught sight of the rack of the animal they were tracking.

It had stopped to drink at a stream down a ravine not 100 yards off, well within range. All three men were drenched in sweat, as they had been tracking the elk for most of the morning. Here in the thicker forest the bitter cold winds of Skyrim were less pernicious than on the plains, and the furs the men wore did more harm than good. 

The tall pale man whistled like a bird, calling to the others, and he made hand motions, signaling them as to the elk's location. The three man hunting party closed up formation at the top of the shallow ravine. The father looked to his pale son, nodding. The man unsheathed an arrow with silent precision, nocking it and drawing back the heavy string, aiming in one smooth movement. The elk lifts its head, ears twitching, suddenly noticing the foreign sounds of an arrow whistling through the air, and it jumps to the left, right into the arrows path. The animal screams in agony as the arrow lodges in its chest and hits the ground. The men waste no time in approaching its prone form, murmuring to each other and the younger man clapping his elder brother on the shoulder. 

Their father slides a dagger from its sheath at his waste and approaches the elk, which is still taking its last breaths and addresses the animal in his native Regni tongue,

“ _We’re sorry to kill you, brother. Forgive us. We do you honor to your courage and speed, your strength, and the nourishment your body will provide.”_

He places a bracing hand on the animal's heaving neck and slits its throat, allowing the animal an end to its suffering with a quick death. 

\---

Miles down from the mountainous forest region the men were hunting in, a small clearing boasting a small log cabin has been hacked out of the forest for farmland. Inside a small family prepares their supper, their longtime neighbor and friend with them, helping their young son roast potatoes at the fire. The Calders, Jon and Astrid have been clearing and claiming this chunk of Skyrim for their own for many years now, their young son Jod toiling along with them.

They are hardy Nordic people, tall and strong, living out their dream of creating their own future far away from the indentured servitude many of their kin endure in the lands further east. The dog on the porch suddenly perks up and starts barking, setting Jon and his friend, the captain of the local Nord militia, Jorleif Stone-Fist, on edge. Both men scrabble towards the door of the cabin, grabbing for their weapons. Astrid puts the lid back on her cooking cauldron, grabbing for Jods’ young shoulders. 

At the fenceline, our hunting party has arrived. The father calls out loudly over the barking dog in regional Nordic, 

“Hello, Jon Calder!” 

The dog bolts off the porch, recognizing his voice and coming to greet them all. The men inside the cabin sigh in relief. 

Jon Calder comes out to the porch, “And how is my friend Cariggarn, then?” 

The two sons emerge from the treeline, weapons on their back, pulling a mule that is laden with the skin and meat from their elk. 

Carriggarn calls jovially, “Our Maker has been good to us, another year passed. How is it with you, Jon?”

The three men approach the cabin, as Jon and Jorleif come down from the porch, Jon calling behind him to Astrid to set three more places at the table.

Astrid and the boy emerge from the cabin moments later, she is wiping off Jods face with her apron and smiling.

Calder clasps arms firmly with Carriggarn, then moves to his sons. 

“Getting along, yes, yes, a good year. Hello Bjen!” Calder says warmly, pulling the tall pale son into his arms, who smiles warmly. 

Bjen smiles, “Hello Jon. Cleared another quarter, I see.” 

Calder releases him and shakes the hand of the last man, Carinoch.

“Yes, I did.” 

Jod Calder tears away from his mother and runs towards Carinoch, who breaks out laughing as the boy jumps into the air, Carinoch easily catching him and swinging him around, then up onto his shoulders. 

Bjen ties off the donkey at the porch and removes a large leg of the elk from its back, Astrid smiles at him and beckons him into the cabin, indicating he should put it down in their meat store. 

“Hello Bjen. Thank ye yet again.” 

The men all follow them in, and Carinoch pretends he is going to hit Jods head on the lintel before suddenly ducking and then running around the cabin with the boy on his shoulders, whooping, the boy screaming in delight. 

Astrid regards them with a shrewd eye. 

“If Carinoch is with you, that means he has not found a woman and started a family yet.” she chides.

Carrigarn, who has lighted up his pipe by the fire, regards her. “Your eyes are too sharp, Astrid Calder. They see into my heart.” 

Carinoch sits at the table, setting the boy down from off his shoulders. “Your farm been good to you this year, Jon?” 

The man nods his head, “Aye, it was a good year for the wheat.” 

Carinoch nodded, “We saw a Cantii field up near the river, 5 miles long.” 

Jon whistled. “You take much fur?”

Bjen nodded, “Aye, we did. But the White falls are near trapped out.”

Astrid asked, “Trading your furs up in Rorikstead?” 

Carinoch shook his head, “No, going further, up to Hjaalmarch. Traders there is neutral, will pay with coin. Round here Imperials and Nordkind want to buy with swill and smoke.”

The easy conversation ebbs as the last man, Jorleif, takes a seat beside Bjen, and Astrid starts dishing out stew from the cauldron with hotcakes. 

Bjen addresses him, “So what is it Jorleif? What brings you up this way?”

Jorleif smirks at his shrewdness, “There’s a Silverblood and Breton army marching south out of Broken Tower Redoubt, heading south to war against the Imperials. I’m here to raise this subhold’s militia to aid in the Empires defense.”

Bjen pauses in bringing stew to his mouth and gives him a skeptical look, “Folks around here going to join that fight?” 

Jorleif smiles in response, “We’ll see come morning.” He blows on his stew.

Carrigarn blows a particularly long breath from his pipe. “The fathers of the Silverblood and Empire, both, take more land, furs and lives than they need. Both full of greed.”

There is widespread agreement throughout the cabin at this statement. Then they resume eating.

Jorleif states, “Aye, few would deny that. Where you lot headed?”

Bjen says, “After trading we’ll trap in Hjaalmarch and head further north, winter with the Dumnonii out in the territory.” 

Carinoch puts on airs, “There I’ll find a woman and make Regni children so our father will leave my brother and I in peace!” He takes a dramatic bite of his hotcake, chewing matter of factly.

Astrid laughs, along with Bjen and Carrigarn. 

Jod pokes Carinoch in the belly, “A son like me?” 

Carinoch grabs the boy and suspends him upside down, to the child's delight. “No! You are too strong. You’d turn me old too fast.” 

Bjen leans over the table to grab the giggling child from his brother, swinging him onto his lap. Their father watches them while blowing smoke rings, content to watch them all eat. 

Astrid laughs, “That’s what he’s doin' to his poor ma already.”

\----

The next day dawns cold but clear, with no wind. After a meager breakfast people from lands surrounding the Calder homestead come from all walks of life to hear about the subhold militia. A large contingent of Cantii arrive, and their leader seeks out Carrigarn, his old friend. The younger set starts a field ball game, Jod whooping loudly, while the dog yips at their heels. 

Jorleif converses long and tersely with Bjen, who is a well respected figure among the local Nords. The women have brought food and drink and Astrid directs them where to build fires for their cooking pots. It is a merry gathering of the local community, all races and creeds, farming settlers, trappers, representatives of the local Breton clans. About 100 or so people are milling about before a loud Imperial contingent arrives, ten heavily armored men mounted upon horseback, picking their way clumsily through the treeline. 

Jon Calder acknowledges the Imperial Lieutenant, easily picked out by the plume of his helmet compared to the other men. He offers them water and refreshment but is turned down. They don’t dismount. It seems the Imperials want to get straight to the business at hand. 

The Lieutenant calls loudly to the congregation, 

“We come on behalf of the Crown, your Emperor, to raise a militia against the Silverblood scourge. Any fighting man among you, come line up, and we will take names of those who will report to General Webb in Falkreath.” 

This statement is met with murmuring and shaking of heads in disbelief. 

A local Nord farmer speaks up, “My father says he was driven out of the Reach by the Silverbloods. He would fight them now but has lost his arm, so I will go in his place.” 

The Lieutenant nods at him and one of the Imperial company dismounts, pulling out a quill and ink from his saddle bag as the conscriptee approaches. 

Astrid walks over, helping to get him set up at a rudimentary bench which consists of a board across two upturned barrels, an overturned bucket making up the seat. 

The Imperial inclines his head in thanks towards Astrid but she ignores him, walking back towards her cabin. 

The leader of the Cantii delegation, heavily tattooed and draped in brightly colored cloth, steps forward to address the Imperial lieutenant. He speaks loudly in halting Nordic.

“Jon Calder, thank you for your hospitality hosting this meet today. The White River Cantii have no quarrel with the Silverbloods. We trade furs with the Silverbloods. But now the Silverbloods bring Forsworn Silurei onto Cantii hunting grounds. So the Cantii will fight both Forsworn and Silverbloods. My brothers have asked me to lead them in this war, so I speak for the White River council.”

The Imperial Lieutenant takes off his plumed helm, bowing low on his horse to the Cantii. 

“Your Emperor Titus Mede is _very_ grateful for your support.”

Jorleif asks the Lieutenant, “How far up towards Markarth?” 

“To Fort Sungaard.” 

“That’s a weeks journey from here!” 

More murmuring of disapproval follow this proclamation. 

The Lieutenant looks around, disgruntled. “It should be enough to remind you that the Silverbloods are the enemy.”

Bjen scoffs loudly, “ _Your_ enemy.” 

Many heads turn to Bjen, who is standing near Jorleif. 

The Lieutenant turns to Bjen, and says incredulously, “What did you say?” 

Bjen states even more loudly, “I said……...the Silverbloods are your enemy. Not ours.” 

The Imperials' face blushes red. “Really. Do you want them to run all over this Hold?” 

Bjen’s eyes flash in anger. “Way I see it, you started it with the Silverbloods over fur-trapping claims to the headwaters of the Karth River.” He pauses for everyone to process this statement. “And now you’re saying these people have a fight on their hands.”

The Lieutenant, though perturbed, decidedly tries to ignore him, yelling out to the larger assembly. “Will you men help us stop the Silverbloods?” 

Bjen continues despite the dismissal. “And while the militia is cooped up in your fort, what if the Silverbloods or Forsworn send war parties to raid their homes?” 

There is a great murmur of assent that passes through the assembled crowd. 

Jorleif nods in assent, “Aye, what then Lieutenant?”

At this point the Lieutenant is nearly purple faced with anger. He belts out to the crowd, “It is _for_ your own homes, for Emperor, for the Empire, that’s why you men ought to join this fight!” 

Bjen meets his anger with cold reproach, “You do what you want with your own skin. Do not be telling us what to do with ours.” 

The Lieutenant turns to face him again and speaks furiously. “You, sir! You call yourself a loyal subject of the Crown?!” 

Bjen smiles and chuckles, then his face turns deadly serious. “No, no, I don’t call myself much of a subject at all.” 

Many break out laughing around the clearing. 

One of the settlers is nodding in resignation. “Bjen’s right. But I figure if I got to fight, better to do it miles north of here instead of in my bean field.” 

There is murmuring and discussion amongst the crowd. 

Jon Calder speaks up, “I’m staying on my farm. Any man who goes, his family is welcome with us til he comes back.” 

Jorleif looks around at the rest of the settlers, who are nodding or dissenting as they will, some stepping forward to sign up with the Imperial seated at the makeshift desk. Jorleif approaches him and the still-angry Lieutenant. 

“Alright. My sense of it is enough of us here will join-up to fill the subholds’ levy. But _only_ if General Webb accepts a few terms I got in mind.” 

Bjen shrugs and walks over to his brother, saying something under his breath. Carinoch smiles, then starts walking towards the field where the children are still playing. 

Jorleif calls to them, “What about you two? You marchin' with us?” 

Carinoch yells back at him, “You heard our say, Jorleif.”  
  


Carinoch joins in on Jod Calders ball team, and then when some of the children on the other team protest, Bjen joins theirs. A few younger Cantii strip to the waist and run out onto the field as well, whooping and hollering. 

All the while the Imperial delegation takes down names. 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2- Falkreath

Children scream and scatter from the cobblestoned road as a team of white horses pulling a wooden carriage comes clattering through the main street of the Imperial town of Falkreath. Having safely descended from the treacherous southern mountain pass from Cyrodiil, the Imperial homeland, the coachman is glad to speed with abandon on once again semi-paved roads. Behind the coach, an imperial detachment of ten men on horses follow, wearing their best traveling armor and furs in Imperial blue. 

Inside the coach, a young Redguard Captain named Daron Fihada sits in full dress armor, steel greaves, and steel cuirass with silver Imperial Dragon emblazoned on a deep blue background over a layer of mail and wool lining. He pulls from his leather traveling case a small pocket locket, which he clicks open to reveal a small hand-painted portrait of a young brunette imperial woman. 

A bump in the road distracts him from his thoughts and he peers out of the coach at the town passing by. Most of the buildings are wood beam with stone or daube filling, and thatched roofs, single story. Only the Jarls longhouse in the distance stands two stories high. The forest grows close to the town, giving it an oppressed atmosphere, and Captain Daron can’t help but think of how far he is from the wealthy manor houses and sprawling farming villas of the Imperial homeland. 

The company rattles over a stone bridge on the north side of town, heading up a slight hill to a promontory where rests Fort Falkreath. The yards and fields surrounding it are a flourish of activity, recruits drilling with bow and sword in the square under the commands of sergeants and local Nords unpacking and stowing various supplies.

The coachman pulls up right outside the main barracks, and Daron quickly stows away his locket and steps out of the coach. He has drawn the attention of quite a few of the local Imperial regiment as he sweeps into the main entry hall to find his commanding officer, General Webb, in conference with many shabby looking local Nords. 

Four guardsmen snap to attention as he enters. 

One of the Nords, Jorleif Stone-Fist, who appears to be the leader of this scruffy band is leaning towards the General, who sits calmly at a large desk in front of a roaring fire. 

“If they are not allowed to leave to defend their families if the Silverbloods or Forsworn attack the settlements, no local militia will be goin’ to Fort Sungaard.” 

Daron quickly assessed the scene, then told one of the guardsmen to go help his men with his baggage. Webb gave Daron a nod to acknowledge his presence. 

Our same loyal Lieutenant who had been back on Jon Calders’ farm was present, and spoke indignantly, “They will report or be pressed into service!” 

Another of the local Nords with the militia designation scoffed, “Any of the men worth havin’ can disappear into the forest in the time it takes you Imperial lot to blink.”

Daron, who was about to hand over a roll of dispatches to the General, paused at the mans’ insubordinate tone. 

The Lieutenant cried out lustily, “Then they will be found and arrested!” 

General Webb held up his hand and silenced everyone. “I cannot imagine, our liege Emperor, in his benevolence, would ever object to his Skyrim subjects deafening their hearth and home, their women and children, if threatened by the scourge of attach from Forsworn savages, aroused to such excess by our enemy, the Silverbloods.”

Jorlief pressed him, “Does that mean they will be granted leave to defend their homes if the settlements are attacked?”

Webb nodded, “Of course.”

Daron looks shocked at such a pronouncement. 

The Nordic militia start to pass by him, a couple of them bumping shoulders with him on their way out. 

Jorleif looks relieved, “Then you got yourself a militia, General.” He turns and walks out.

Daron stands at attention and announces loudly, “Captain Daron Fihada reporting, Sir!” 

Webb stands and takes a decanter of wine from a shelf on the wall, pouring himself a glass and lifting it tenderly to his lips. 

“Welcome to Skyrim, Daron. How was your journey?”

As the door to the hall shuts, Daron is candid. “I didn’t experience anything so surprising from Bruma to Falkreath as what I witnessed here today.”

Webb looks up at him, “And what pray tell is that?”

Daron levels him with a stare, “The Crown. Negotiating the terms of service?”

Webb sighs, “I know. One has to give these locals “reasons” and make agreements to get them to do anything at all. Tiring, isn’t it? But that’s the way of it here in Skyrim.”

Daron speaks tersely, “I thought the Empires’ policy is ‘Make Tamriel…… as Cyrodiil,’ sir.”

Several of the other Imperials in the room murmur and exchange eye contact. Who is this upstart Captain who dares upbraid the General?

Webbs tone grows cold. “You will take command of the 62nd Regiment of Foot. At Fort Sungaard under Knight Protector Pellius. I march with the 33rd detachment to Fort Greymoor.”

Daron says subserviently, “Sir. Might I enquire if General Webb has heard from Knight Protector Pellius’ daughters? I was to rendezvous with them in Falkreath and escort them to the fort.”

Webb’s countenance thawed somewhat, “Yes. You may.” He glanced over behind him to a man that had been cloaked in shadow in the corner and motions forward with his hand. “You there, what does Pellius call you?” He turns towards Daron again, “Pellius has sent one of his local Breton allies to guide you.” 

Webb jerked his thumb towards the Breton man that emerged from the corner into the firelight. He looks reserved and is of average height, his head shaved bald save for a red-dyed stripe of hair down the middle of his head. He was heavily tattooed with blue woad symbols, a red striped blanket draped like a shawl over his shoulders. He wore little underneath save for a fur loincloth and leather belt, where his war axe rested, leather leggings, and fur boots. Daron regarded the man with distaste for his uncivilized appearance.

“Knight Pellius’ daughters are staying with the Jarl. A small detachment of the 33rd platoon will accompany you on your journey to Fort Sungaard. Sagram here will show you way. You depart in the morning.” 

Daron salutes, “By you leave, sir.”

Webb regards him, then chides, “You can expect there will be little to do over this latest campaign, Captain. The Silverbloods are only interested in their mines and their women. They’d rather be rolling in their beds than show up for a good fight.”

There was laughter among the Imperials gathered, and Daron could not help but feel as if he was somehow being made the brunt of some joke. 

“Dismissed.” 

Daron turned to Sagram, “Dawn, at the Jarls house. See to it you’re there.”

Sagram gave him a deferential nod. 

\----

Captain Daron took a few moments to freshen up in the barracks before finding a horse and traveling the short way to the Jarl's longhouse. It was surrounded by a tall picket fence, and two Nords decked out in Imperial armor nodded to him as he passed through the gate. Daron starts to look around hopefully. 

“Captain Fihada! Daron! Daron!” a female voice called to him from the side yard. 

Daron turned to see Miss Raesa Pellius walking towards him quickly, a beaming smile on her face. Raesa is taller than average for an Imperial woman, with thick brunette hair currently tied up in an elaborate chignon that is tucked under a day hat. Her blue dress sets off her hazel eyes and intelligent countenance. She rushes up to Daron and hugs him, then pushes him away just as suddenly to study him in his regalia. 

Daron smiles at her enthusiastically, “My God it’s good to see you.” He takes her hand and brings it to his lips, and Raesa blushes. 

She pulls her hand away. “Come! Come, the Jarls wife has set us out tea to take in the field yonder.” 

The sun is high in the sky and the wind low as the walk around the longhouse to a cleared field, grass grown long with many wildflowers. Bee hives along the periphery generate soothing buzzing sound. A circular wooden table and chairs have been set out, and the entire effect is enchanting. Daron could almost imagine himself back in Cyrodiil, in the sun-kissed gardens of the Imperial City, if not for the looming mountains and forest too near. 

As soon as he has Raesa seated, she starts serving out the small luncheon, “Alexia will be out in a moment, she will be so pleased to see you.” 

This comment sets Daron right down to business. “Rey. If I may still call you so informally after we have been separated for too long……”

Rey nods to him. 

“I need to ask after your response to the question I posed in my last letter. As your responses to my letters have been frequent and vivacious in their description of your travels here, I know you must have received it.” 

Rey immediately averts her lovely hazel eyes from his face, changing the subject, “How were your travels Daron? Did you have to travel over water?” 

Daron gave her an exasperated look. “Indeed. But it appears you are avoiding my question. What I really wish to discuss is if you will marry me. You’ve received my letter, you’ve had months to think upon it by now.” He searched her eyes for signs of a decision. 

Rey deflected once again, looking down at the tablecloth. “I’m embarrassed to be so indecisive……….after so long apart and after you’ve traveled so far.” 

Darons eyes twinkled, “Even over water. But it was worth it all to end in a garden, by your side.” 

Rey looks back at him and speaks slowly and clearly, “Dearest Daron. My affection is as towards a closest friend. Alexia and I depend on you and respect you immensely. I wish they did, but my feelings don’t go beyond that. Do you see?” 

Daron is not put out. “Isn’t respect and friendship a reasonable basis for a man and a woman to be joined? And all else may grow in time?” 

Rey takes a sip of her tea. “Some say that’s the way of it.”

Daron presses her, “Some?” 

Rey sighs. “My father….cousin….but…...”

Daron interrupts her, “Rey. In my heart I know that once we’re joined, we’ll be the happiest couple in the Imperial City. Can’t you let those whom you trust, your father, help settle what’s best for you? In view of your indecision, you should rely on their advice and judgement, as well as mine.” 

Rey feels very uncomfortable at this declaration and looks away from him.

Daron presses further, “Will you consider that?” he says rather forcefully, while grabbing for her hand. 

Rey pulls away, looking at him sternly. 

He sighs, “Please consider that?” 

She nods. They hear footsteps approaching and a light voice call out, “Daron!”

They turn to see the approach of Rey’s sister, Alexia Pellius, across the field. She has very fair hair and countenance, blue eyes, and is still quite girlish in her manner, running up to Daron and embracing him.

Daron is taken back by her enthusiasm as he hugs her back, no longer the slip of a girl that he remembered. 

“My God, you’ve grown up.”

Alexia beams at him, “We leave in the morning to go see father?” 

Daron stands at attention and gives her a mock salute. “Yes, Miss.” 

Alexia laughs, “I won’t sleep tonight! What an adventure! I cannot wait to return to our house on Green Emperor Way, after having been in the wilds, traveling among the savage Bretons!” 

Rey rolls her eyes and rebukes her, “My God Alexia!” 

Daron settles Alexia at the table, “It can be dangerous you know….in the wild.” 

She laughs childishly, “Oh nonsense, Papa wouldn’t have sent for us if it were dangerous. Besides, we have you to protect us, Daron.” She looks up at him in adoration. 

Daron smiles down at her and settles back into his seat, as Rey serves out more tea. He tries to capture her eyes, but she avoids his. 

\---


	3. Into the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3

The following morning the Pellius sisters were awoken early by a chambermaid, and helped to dress into traveling gowns, their hair piled high on top of their heads before pinning on fur-lined traveling hats. 

Each lady wore a half cloak lined with fur to keep their torsos warm on the road. They put on sensible riding shoes, and Rey oversaw the loading of what possessions they would take with them onto a mule in the courtyard of the Jarls’ longhouse. 

A quick breakfast later and Captain Fihada met them in the courtyard, their Breton guide Sagram having arrived before them all, evaluating the small party as he leaned against one of the support beams of the stables. His stare made Rey uneasy.

The morning was not too cold, and the cloud free sky promised a hearty sun that would warm them along the road. Rey wondered if her furs would perhaps be too much weight. Daron helped them mount on their study Skyrim horses and led the procession out of the town and up to the road leading beyond the fort. 

A company of twenty Imperial footsoldiers join them on the road, ten in front of the women, Daron and the pack mule, and ten behind. Sagram takes the lead and starts to lead the slow procession north, down the cobblestone road away from civilization. 

After the road meets the treeline, the cobblestones turn to dirt, and the road becomes less of a road and more of a passageway through the thick undergrowth.

This undergrowth thins out slightly as they reach an older section of forest, trees tall and a thick canopy preventing some of the clawing undergrowth enough light to grow too tall. The ground is very hilly and prevents one from seeing too far into the distance, and Rey feels swallowed whole by the wilderness. 

A couple hours later Rey is sincerely regretting her fur cape. The air seems closer in this section of forest, and perhaps makes it feel warmer than it actually is. She enjoys looking up at the forest canopy, small peeks of light coming through that cast twinkling shafts of light down on their road. Looking to the right she sees a fox peeking out at them from the undergrowth, regarding them with as much curiosity as she did it. 

“Alexia….did you see?” Rey turns to see her sister looking very fatigued astride her mount, a slight sheen of perspiration on her face. 

“Alexia?” Rey asks with concern. 

Captain Fihada notices Rey’s concern and draws up alongside Alexia. 

“Are you alright?” 

  
Alexia, who has a delicate constitution, rouses from her fatigue. “Can we rest soon?” 

Daron nods, “Absolutely.” 

He pulls to the head of the column of soldiers and addresses Sagram, “You there! Scout!” 

Sagram turns slowly to look at Captain Fihada. 

Daron speaks very slowly, thinking that the man cannot understand him well, “We must stop…...soon. Women…...they are…...tired. You…….understand?” 

Sagram looks at him in derision and speaks in perfect Nordic, “I understand. This is not a good place to stop. Two leagues on, no water til then. That where we stop, better place.” 

Daron starts to get annoyed, “No. Stop in that glade just ahead. When the ladies are rested, we will proceed. Do you understand?”

Sagram turns away muttering to himself in Silurei, “ _I understand. Imperial is a dog to his women. When his women want to eat, he lays aside his axe to feed their laziness.”_

Daron follows him, “Excuse me, what did you say?” 

Sagram turns to him again, “I said, Sagram understands you very well.” 

They reach the glad and stop, Fihada helping Alexia dismount. 

  
  
  
  


\-----

  
  
  
  


Three miles away to the west, Carrigarn, Carinoch, and Bjen are walking northwards. They had tracked behind Jorleif and the militia south through the forest towards Falkreath, making sure they made it alright despite not wanting to get involved. A short hiatus to their travel plans didn’t delay them too much, and many of the men were brethren they had traded with and formed close friendships with over the years.

Carrigarn was quite fond of most of the settler folk of this region, and saw no need to set out towards Hjaalmarch while so many of the men were gone away from their homes. All three moved silently in moccasined feet, cradling their bows, constantly on the alert for anything out of place in the forest. 

They stop alongside a stream when Carinoch notices something out of place, a rock overturned out of its bed under the water. Carrigarn nods at where Carinoch points, then looks around, finding another rock outside the stream that’s had some moss scraped off in the profile of a human foot heading east.

The three men quickly fan out in an easterly direction, searching for more signs of people passing by that way. 

A hundred yards east of the stream they find some ash and still warm coals under an outcropping of rock, and Bjen turns up an arrowhead with a distinctive pattern. 

Bjen looks to his father, “ _Forsworn?”_

Carinoch nods agreement. 

Carrigarn eyes them both, “ _What is a Forsworn hunting party doing this far south?”_

“ _Nothing good.”_ Bjen says. 

Wordlessly the men continue to follow what meager tracks the party left behind. 

  
  
  


\------

  
  
  


The women have remounted and the party moved on from the glade for about a league when the path starts to curve along a fairly steep hill. 

Sagram is walking out front but slows his pace. He turns and walks back past the first column of Imperials, who don’t give him a glance as they march by. Captain Fihada barely spares him a glance as the Breton uses his traveling blanket to hide his unsheathing of his war axe. 

He approaches the rear of the column, the infantrymen at the front of the column shoots him a look out of the corner of his eye before a brief moment before the Sagram’s axe hits him in the temple. The man is dead before he can even react.

Sagram pulls the axe loose and hits the next man in line, the others around them barely registering what is going on before Sagram has killed two more. 

  
Suddenly arrows burst from the trees from on the hill above, hitting the soldiers towards the front of the column. Their cries of fear and pain finally rouses Captain Fihada, who immediately springs into action. 

“Form line, Form line!” 

Alexia screeches in fear, and Rey grabs the reins of her horse as it bucks. 

Daron forms up the company in front of the women, when another volley of arrows is released from the trees and three more soldiers fall. The rest of the men draw their bows, nocking arrows and staring nervously into the trees.

“Company ready! Aim! Fire!” 

The Imperials release their volley. The arrows whish uphill but no sound is heard following save for a whooping war cry. Their assailants have ducked behind trees for cover. Still no one has noticed where Sagram has caused destruction to the rear guard, then ducked behind a tree. 

Rey’s horse bucks mightily and she is spilled to the earth, hat coming off and her hair flying loose from its elaborate style. Alexia screams as her horse tries to bolt, and is bucked from the saddle immediately. Rey runs over to her and tries to bodily shield her from harm as more arrows come sailing down from the hill. 

“Ready! Aim!” Daron shouts, but his horse is struck by an arrow and the beast rears, as the Forsworn war party finally break through the trees, war axes at ready, chopping into the Imperial line and finding the chinks in the joints of their armor. Black war paint adorns their bodies as they hack and slash through the Imperials, who barely have a chance to draw their swords before they are struck down.

The smell of blood becomes nearly overwhelming as more men fall. Rey looks around in terror as she realizes their company is vastly outnumbered, and tries to shush her sister beneath her. 

Daron regains his feet and draws his sword, fighting off a Forsworn with an axe hellbent on decapitating him. 

But he is greatly out manned. Daron slashes the legs out from one enemy before being butted in the head with the tail end of an axe from the next. The man falls forward over him as Daron impales him on his sword. He shakes his head to clear it. 

It's chaos for only moments before the last Imperials fall to the onslaught. Daron pushes his slain enemy off his sword, drawing back towards the women to protect them from certain death. 

Sagram approaches Fihada, a demonic gleam in his eye. 

Suddenly there are more arrows coming from the treeline. Three Forsworn fall, followed by another three in quick succession. Sagram is confused and pulls back towards the hill.

The remaining Forsworn are shocked as three figures emerge from the underbrush, slamming their own war axes into bodies without even slowing down. 

Cariggarn takes out two Forsworn in quick succession, hamstringing one before plunging his hunting knife into another's neck. He swings around with his great axe, decapitating the man he crippled a second before. 

Carinoch reinforces Fihada, ducking under the wild swing of a Forsworn and gutting him smoothly, before turning to the next. 

Rey is still sheltering her sister on the ground, who she realizes a second later has fainted. Her eyes are watering with the stench of death in the air. 

The tide of the ambush is turned as Bjen throws his war axe into the back of a retreating man, sending him spreadeagled to the forest floor. He downs four more in quick succession with his bow, never pausing more than a second to reload.

Bjen notices Sagram a few yards up the hill, who has turned and is aiming his bow at Rey on the ground. Bjen steps forward and shifts his aim, but Sagram does as well, releasing an arrow straight towards Bjen’s face. He narrowly manages to dodge while his own released arrow impacts on nothing. Sagram is gone. 

Carrigarn takes off after a few retreating Forsworn up the hill while Captain Fihada retrieves a bow from the ground, aiming for Carrigarn. 

Rey realizes who he is aiming for, stands quickly and screams out, “No, Daron!” 

Daron ignores her but finds the bow ripped from his hands by an incensed Bjen, who tosses it aside. 

“In case your aim is any better than your judgement, imp.” 

Daron draws his sword on him. Bjen draws an arrow so fast its almost imperceptible, pointing it at Darons face. He is distracted for a second, and fires. The arrow hits a Forsworn who had been approaching from behind. 

Carinoch has already begun to gather supplies from the bodies littering the forest floor as Carrigarn dispatches the two remaining Forsworn then gingerly picks his way back down the incline.

There is a sudden silence that falls over the survivors. Rey looks back down to Alexia, who has regained consciousness and helps her to her feet. Both women are extremely disheveled and dirty, but they are alive and unharmed. 

Carinoch has captured one of the bolted horses and turns it back the way they had come, giving it a good smack on the rump and sending it flying down the back back towards Falkreath. 

Alexia’s mouth dropped open, “What are you doing! We need that horse to get out of here!” 

The pack mule with the ladies baggage is dead, shot through the neck. 

Fihada addresses Bjen, “Why the bloody hell did he do that.” Bjen ignores him, instead scanning the forest for any additional movement. 

Carinoch shakes his head gently, “Too loud. They can be heard for miles.” 

Alexia seems shocked he can speak a non-Breton tongue. 

Carrigarn regains the path, and starts gathering arrows, checking to make sure all the Forsworn fallen are truly dead. 

Bjen juts his chin towards Daron. “Your wounded should try to make their way back to Falkreath. They’ll never make a passage north.” He steps away and reclaims his war axe from the back of the man he killed. 

“We were headed…..” Daron starts.

“To Fort Sungaard?” Bjen asks. 

Rey and Daron exchange glances. 

The three men who saved them speak in rapid fire Regni. Rey is surprised when it is the older man who eventually nods in assent, making up all of their minds for them. 

Bjen turns back to them, “We’ll take you as far as the fort.” 

He throws Daron a discarded bow and quiver, then proceeds down the path, following where his brother and father have already started at a rapid pace. 

Rey and Alexia still stand terrified, not making a move. 

Bjen pauses as he passes them, and addresses Rey. “If we’re going to take you, we need to move. Fast.” 

  
She looks up at him and notices the contempt in his face as he peers at her sister, still shaking with fear. 

He tilts his head at Rey, “That is, unless you’d rather stay here and wait for another Forsworn war party to come by?” 

Rey grabs Alexia by the hand and pulls her along, following behind Carrigarn and Carinoch already some distance ahead. 

Daron immediately flanks the women, giving Bjen a distrustful share as Bjen bows his head to him in mockery. 

Bjen sighs as he takes an extra bow,quiver, and kit from a dead footsoldier, then follows the group. 

  
  
  


\------

  
  
  
  


The rag tag party quickly moves west and reaches the little stream from before, and Bjen takes the lead, stepping into the stream and walking through the water in a northerly direction.

Carrigarn and Carinoch fall back behind the women, making sure they don't fall behind. After half a mile in the stream Rey’s feet are freezing cold, what seemed like sensible riding shoes failing epically when asked to trek over rock, stone, and in ice cold water. Her sister trails behind, occasionally whimpering softly, and when Rey looks back at her she doesn’t like the lost vacant look in Alexia’s eyes. 

Daron follows Bjens example, his Imperial issue boots making more sensible work of the stream, but he carries himself uneasily, not happy to be following some half-savage scout across rough terrain. 

Daron speaks loudly at him, “How far is it, scout?” 

Bjen’s shoulders drop. “A few good days hike from here. Where did you get……..that guide?” 

Daron is surprised at his line of questioning. “Knight Protector Pellius sent him. He was one of our Cantii allies.” 

Bjen stops and stares at him. “He is Forsworn Silurei and nothing else.” Bjen glances back towards the women, making sure they cannot hear. “Why would he want to murder the girl?” 

Daron exclaims, “What?!”

Bjen shushes him and speaks softly, “The dark haired one.” 

“Miss Raesa Pellius. He never set eyes upon her before today.” 

Bjen eyes him skeptically, “No blood vengeance? No re-proach or insult to his person?”

Daron regards him with just as much skepticism, “Of course not! And just how exactly were you all nearby?” 

Bjen turns back round, continuing along the stream, “Came across the war party, tracked ‘em.” 

Daron tries to keep up, but his boots keep slipping on the smooth rocks of the streambed. “So you’re assigned to Fort Sungaard, then?”

“No.” Bjen says. 

“Fort Greymoor, then?” 

“No. Heading North, towards Hjaalmarch.”

Darons’ voice rises, “I thought all local scouts were in the militia?” 

Anger seeps into Bjen’s voice, “I ain’t _your_ scout, and I certainly ain’t in no damn militia.” 

Daron is practically yelling at this point, “Then you are one of those who would allow the Empire to fight alone while she protects you from the Silverbloods?” 

The women have caught up to them, and Rey sees the heated looks exchanged between the two men. 

“The Empire does not protect me and does not wage war against the Silverbloods on our account. It uses _us_ to war against them for her own purpose, greed for more land and riches.” 

Rey, daughter of an Imperial commander and staunch patriot, shoots Bjen an appalled look. 

Bjen gets into Darons’ face, baiting him, “That clear it up any?” 

Daron half unsheathes his sword and yells, “I owe you gratitude or I would call you out!” 

Bjen lowers his voice and reaches for the hilt of his dagger, “Do not let gratitude get in the way.” 

Rey rushes forward to hold onto Daron’s sword arm and give him a warning look. She doesn’t doubt for a second that her old friend would be dead before he drew his sword if Bjen really decided to kill him. 

Carrigarn catches up to them, and ends the argument decisively. He points at Daron and says “This Imp no good in the woods. He makes more noise, I kill him myself.” 

The party resumes its trek downstream, finally getting out of it when the trickling stream meets up with a more swift tributary. 

The sun is down and Alexia’s teeth are chattering when they finally stop for the night. The temperature has dropped and Daron lays down the bedroll from his kit for her. She is asleep practically as soon as her head hits the ground. Bjen passes round jerky, and Rey does her best to rip into the dried meat, her hunger finally catching up with her. 

There is a tense mood among the group that causes Daron to whisper, “Can’t we have a fire? The ladies will freeze.” 

Carinoch shakes his head no, “Too risky. We may be being followed. The smoke would give us away.” 

Rey finishes her jerky and takes the hide canteen Bjen offers her. She drinks the cold water heartily and nods her thanks at him. He nods back, and is distracted when his father addresses him in Regni,

“ _We can stop awhile at Calders cabin tomorrow to rest these flowers and resupply.”_

Bjen nods, “ _I’ll take first watch tonight.”_

They have made good time despite having the women along. Rey finally feels the fullness in her belly and the exhaustion of her legs, and practically sways where she sits. 

Daron shakes her arm, “You should go lie down.” 

She shakes her head, “Someone should keep look out, I can help.” 

Carinoch smiles at her while clearing a patch of ground to rest on, “You’d be asleep in two blinks. Bjen will keep watch.”

His father lays down beside him, they plan to share body heat to keep warm. Bjen unfastens the kit he salvaged and unrolls another bedroll beside Alexia. “Sleep now. It’s another long trek tomorrow.”

Rey gratefully nods at him, then tucks herself in, cradling Alexia’s back for warmth. She feels Daron lay down back to back with her, in an attempt to retain propriety, and soon the warmth seeping between herself and her sister lulls her overactive mind to sleep.


	4. Flight to the Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, just want to mention the fic earns its tags this chapter, there is death that occurs so if you would like to skip any graphic detail stop at "The Regni spread out quickly, checking for survivors or enemies." and then start again at "Carrigarn gestures to the mud of the field and his sons gather around," It's really not too long, but figured I would warn people.

Chapter 4- Flight to the Fort

When Rey wakes in the morning her whole body is cold and sore. The men are already up and moving around, sharpening weapons, checking bowstrings and arrow supplies, and passing around hard tack bread for breakfast. 

Rey shakes Alexia awake. She seems very disoriented and Rey can tell the exact moment she remembers what happened the previous day, and where they are now. Rey tries to stretch out her limbs and stand, not sure to be thankful for the heat of her heavy skirts or to hate them for how difficult they made the trek through the wilderness. She pulls off her fur shawl and shakes it off, then bends down to roll up the bedroll. Alexia lays there, sullen and silent. 

Carinoch brings Alexia jerky and bread, wrapped in leather and sets it beside her. “You need to eat, you did not last night. Still a half days walk before we can take any ease.”

He leaves her his canteen and Rey thanks him before helping Alexia sit up and supervising her while she eats. Alexia still seems stunned at their situation, maybe even more so at receiving such kindness from someone she had so shortly ago classified as a savage. 

Daron brings Rey some hard tack as well which Rey dutifully eats. After she is comfortable that Alexia has taken in some nourishment she sits up and walks a short distance away from the men, trying to find a spot to relieve herself. Her feet in her riding shoes protest at the movement. It will still be a long journey to the fort and Rey cannot wait until she can find more adequate footwear. 

Finding a secluded spot Rey does her business, trying not to feel embarrassed at her situation. She is returning to camp, shaking out the rest of her ruined hairstyle when she practically collides with Bjen, who has come looking for her. 

He surveys her loose hair and dirty face while her face flames, hoping he didn’t witness what she had just been up to. 

“Best not wander too far.” 

She nods, and he follows her as she picks her way back to the group. 

Carrigarn converses with his sons in Regni, and Rey takes Alexia back to the spot she found so she can also have some relieve herself, braiding her hair back off her face as they walk back to the makeshift camp. 

“Don’t worry, Alexia. Just a little further and we can rest. Maybe wash.” Rey encourages her. She braids Alexia’s long hair as well, after using her fingers to comb it out as soothingly as she can from its ruined updo from yesterday. 

Alexia takes a hold of Reys hand and doesn’t let go until the group has set off, following Carinoch further north through the forest. 

It is a tense atmosphere among them still. Bjen and Carinoch lead, with the thinly veiled hostility of Captain Daron just behind, followed by the sisters and Carrigarn in the rear. Rey wonders if the elder Regni told Carinoch to go out front and keep Bjen in line around Daron. Despite herself she is enchanted by watching the easy familial interactions between the Regni men. 

Rey has lost track of time and the canopy of trees has blocked out the sun by the time they slow their pace. A rock ravine lies up ahead, a steady small river flowing through its base and opposite Rey can see a embankment of boulders ascending in a fifty degree incline for about 30 yards before the undergrowth resumes and the ground levels out into tree growth again.

Bjen and Carinoch are gesticulating towards it, most likely deciding how best to get the women up it in such inadequate hiking gear. 

Daron, who has been fairly reserved all morning, looks at the terrain skeptically. 

“Can we not just go around?” 

Carrigarn behind them answers, “This ravine is long. If we don’t scale it…….would take days to go around.” 

Alexia hugs herself, wrapping her fur half-cape tighter as she looks at the rocks. Rey is growing mildly impatient with her frailty in the face of their survival situation. 

With bull-headed stubbornness, she decides to take the initiative. She picks her way down to the river bed, past Carinoch and Bjen, and hikes her dress up as far as she is able before splashing through the thigh-deep water. Behind her she hears chuckles from the Regni, who quickly follow. 

Rey stops at the other side of the river and drops her skirts, turning back to face the rest of the group. Carinoch gives her a smirk and nod and Bjen a full-on smile. This takes her completely off guard. His whole countenance is changed from stoic unapproachability to endearing gentleness in the space of a second. 

Rey blushes and bends down to wash her face quickly since the opportunity presents itself. She removes her shoes and twists the water out of her long dressing socks before putting them back on while the Regni also stoop for a quick clean up. 

Daron is carrying Alexia through the shallow river, and having a harder time of it, and by the time they ford across Carinoch has started to pick his way up the boulders of the ravine. 

Bjen hops up the first boulder and holds out his hand to Rey, which she accepts before he hauls her up with little effort. She slides a bit in her wet shoes and is thankful when he braces her. She assesses the rock face and is discouraged, but starts up doggedly, following Carinoch’s path, sometimes having to go on her hands and feet, awkwardly holding her skirts in hand in order to gain an adequate foothold. 

Carrigarn is again at the end of the group, making sure Daron is able to help Alexia up, who is having a very hard time of it. Bjen drops back from Rey, who is handling herself, in order to assist her sister when necessary. 

It’s extremely slow going in the womens dresses and inadequate shoes. By the time she is near the top Rey is sweating, every sore muscle she had from earlier set on fire from having to haul herself up and over the boulders, and pick her way for footholds between the large rocks. Her lightweight corset feels like a curse she never wants to endure again. 

Finally Carinoch helps her find hold of the base of a small sapling and his hand at the top and she is up and over the crest of the ravine. She collapses to the forest floor to regain her breath, smoothing flyaways from her temple while Bjen and Daron practically push Alexia up into Carinochs’ arms to get her up over the precipice. 

Alexia is even more tired than Rey, and the women are allowed a brief respite and water. 

Daron crouches next to them and says encouragingly, “It’s not too much longer now, they say there is a settlement nearby.” 

The group picks their way further north silently for another hour before Rey can tell there is something wrong. The three Regni men are smelling the air, holding themselves on high alert, and Rey can see a faint haze of smoke in the beams of sunlight that now pierce the forest canopy from the sun high in the sky. 

Carinoch breaks off ahead at a run, while Bjen picks up his pace. Alexia whines in protest and Daron looks like he is about to say something before Rey silences him with a look. 

Carrigarn pulls ahead of them as well, leaving the three Imperials to follow behind. 

The trees start to thin and the air thicken with more smoke before Rey catches up to the men, seeing what they are all staring at. 

A small cabin in a clearing has been burnt out, smoke still rising and drifting into the forest from the collapsed roof. Livestock wander the clearing aimlessly, a large cow having broken through its fence pleasantly grazing in a half-planted field. 

The Regni spread out quickly, checking for survivors or enemies. 

Rey feels Alexia take her hand again as Daron brushes past them. 

Rey approaches what's left of the cabin and sees the bloody body of a Nord woman, laying across a threshold to an interior room. The fisted hand of a young child rests across her abdomen.

Rey looks away, suddenly feeling the urge to retch as tears spring into her eyes. She clutches Alexia to her chest to prevent her from seeing, walking briskly away from the cabin. 

Carinoch is in the field, feeling for the pulse of a Nord man who lays face down. As Bjen approaches him Carinoch shakes his head sadly. 

Daron calls to them both, “Anything to be done?” 

Carrigarn comes around the side of the cabin, his face pale. 

Carinoch addresses his father, “All dead. Tools, stores, all still here. Nothing was taken.” 

Carrigarn gestures to the mud of the field and his sons gather around, a moccasin print clearly visible. The Regnis’ expressions harden grimly.

Daron tries to walk over to them, trying again to be heard, “Who were these people?” 

Carinoch waves dismissively at him, gesturing for him to remain where he is on the periphery with the women.

Bjen bends down to examine the print further and states, “Silurei!” 

Daron interrupts loudly, “Excuse me?” 

Carrigarn rests his hand on Carinochs shoulder, who is still kneeling doing his best to hide his devastation, while nodding affirmatively to Bjen. He gestures north and starts off in that direction, patting his son on the back to get him to rise. 

Daron takes exception to this. “See here now, let us look after them!” 

Carrigarn half turns back towards him. “Leave them.”

Rey, who has watched this whole exchange silently while sheltering her sister, can’t stay silent anymore. She is incensed, “Even though they are strangers, they are at least entitled to a proper burial!” 

Bjen stands and turns towards her. He shakes his head to the negative and speaks authoritatively, “Let us go, miss.” 

Rey releases Alexia and tromps towards him. “I will not! I’ve seen the face of war before, sir. But never made on women and children! To leave them would almost be as cruel as your indifference!” 

Bjen snaps for a moment and strides violently over to her. Seeing him approach Rey backs up fearfully. 

He contains himself before he reaches her, but at this distance she can see the tears that have pooled in his eyes and the barely contained grief behind them as he speaks lowly but vehemently to her, “Miss Pellius. They are not strangers…….and they stay as they lay.” 

Rey is stricken at his intensity and looks at the ground. She realizes that all three Regni did indeed know these people, perhaps very intimately. She also realizes that she is completely out of her element, and that this frontier world plays by rules and complexities that are beyond her understanding. 

Bjen turns from her to follow his brother and father as they leave the clearing, once again headed north. 

The Imperials follow, Rey trying to keep up as best she can and brushing tears from her eyes. 

  
  
  


\-----

  
  
  
  


That night they still do not risk a fire. Coming across the evidence of yet another Forsworn war party has all three Regni on extreme edge. The atmosphere is even more tense than before, and even Alexia knows to keep her silence. They have found a small hill with dense underbrush among the trees, and some natural deer lays that will serve nicely for a night.

Alexia lays down on one bedroll and is asleep quickly after their sparse meal, Daron watching over her. He beckons Rey to come rest as well, but she instead seeks out Bjen where he is laying on his stomach at the crest of the hill, keeping watch through the brush down into the forest below. 

He doesn’t react as she lays next to him, also scanning below. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. 

Finally she gathers her courage to whisper to him, “Why didn’t you bury those people?”

He exhales. “Anyone looking to pick up our trail would have seen it as a sign we passed that way.” 

“You knew them,” she presses. 

He turns and faces her, sprawled on his side. “Aye.” 

  
Rey rolls to her side as well, facing him. She casts down her eyes, feeling ashamed. “You were acting for our benefit. I apologize. I misunderstood you.” 

He lets her stew for a moment, and there is a resigned tone to his voice when he speaks again, “Well…….that is to be expected. My father…”

She looks up at him again, “Your ‘father’?” 

His eyebrows crease. “Carrigarn. He warned me about people like you.” 

Rey's eyes widen, “He did?” 

A half smirk plays on Bjen’s mouth, “Aye, he said, ‘do not try and understand them. They are a breed apart and they make no sense’.”

Rey scoffs indignantly. 

Suddenly Carinoch is signaling to them, and makes a low bird call. Bjen goes on alert and looks back down the hill, his eyes scanning. Rey follows his lead. She can barely make out dark shadows moving through the trees below, headed west. They are silent as ghosts making nary a sound. It's a Forsworn war party on the move. One of the figures steps out of the shadows at the base of the hill and gesticulates upwards. 

Bjen unsheaths a dagger from his waist before passing it hilt first to Rey, who starts for a second at the brush of his hand. She scans just as diligently as he down the hill. Bjen is impressed with her ability to keep a steady head. He brings his bow further over the crest of the hill and half draws an arrow, very slowly, in case the war party decides to come up and investigate. 

What looks like the leader of the band in a tall antlered headdress waves for them all to pass on.

It's another twenty minutes before Rey feels her body relax, and when she tries to pass the dagger back to Bjen he pushes it back towards her, wanting her to keep it. 

She cocks her head at him, “We’re a breed apart and make no sense…..?”

He smiles, “In your particular case, miss, I would make a little allowance.” 

Rey smiles back at him before saying sarcastically, “Thank you  _ so  _ much.” She feels her temper cool regardless as the adrenaline leaves her system. She ventures another question. 

“You called Carrigarn your father. Where is your real family?” 

Bjens’ surprise at her question is written all over his expressive face. “They buried my ma and pa and sisters. Carrigarn, who found me with two local trappers, took me and raised me up as his own.”

Rey feels chastened. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head at her, “Naught to feel sorry for, I don’t remember them. I was but one or two at the time.” 

“How did you learn Nordic?”

“My father sent Carinoch and I to an Imperial school put on by a Priest of Akatosh in the village of Karthwasten when I was ten. So we would know both worlds. Though we were told only to bother learning reading and arithmetic from yours.” 

Rey appraises him, “And what were the consequentialities of Imperial culture you didn’t bother with?”

“The Imperial pantheon. Monarchy. Many wrong ideas about the government of men. My fathers’ people already know each man is his own nation. And only he can have dominion over himself. Not Emperors. No man or woman is better than any other.” 

Rey raises her eyebrows at him, “In the Imperial CIty those radical ideas could land you in prison.” 

Bjen scoffs. 

She continues, “Why were those people living in this defenseless place?” 

He eyes her, as if he can barely believe her naivety, then speaks passionately, “The frontier is the only land affordable to poor people. After seven years of indentured service in Bruma, your Imperial laws at work, they headed out here where they are beholden to none. Not living by anothers’ leave. Their names were Calder. Jon, Astrid and Jod.”

Rey turns onto her back, staring up through the thin canopy at the stars, considering what he said.

He regards her and speaks more gently. “My fathers’ people say at the birth of the sun and the moons, their mother died. So the Sun gave to the earth her body, from which was to spring all life. He drew forth from her breast the stars, which he threw into the night sky to remind himself of her soul. So there is the Calders’ monument. My folks’ too, I guess.” 

Rey takes it all in, then rejoins, “You are right, Bjen. I do not understand everything that is happening here. And it is certainly not as I imagined it would be, back at home in Cyrodiil.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

She shakes her head and looks into his eyes, “No, you misunderstand. It is more stirring to me here than any imagining could possibly have been.” 

Rey is thankful for the darkness to mask the blush that rises on her cheeks as he regards her, then gets up to join her sister on the bedrolls, trying to calm the thumping of her heart in her chest. 


End file.
